“No. I'm thirty-four years old. I have to lead my life, Serena, not theirs. If I wanted to lead their life, I'd already be out of the army, working for one of my father's friends in New York.”
“Doing what?” She suddenly had an insatiable curiosity about him.
“Working in a bank most likely. Or running for office. My family is very involved in politics in the States.”
She sighed tiredly and there was a cynical smile in her eyes. “My family was very involved in politics over here.” She looked at him with sorrow and wisdom and a hint of laughter, and he was glad to see that she could see the irony in the situation. “It's a little different there.”
“I hope so. Is that what you want to do? Go into politics?”
“Maybe. To tell you the truth I'd rather stay in the army. I've been thinking of making that my career.”
“How do they feel about that?” It was as though she had instantly sensed how great a power they wielded over him, or attempted to. And there were times when it was a battle royal. “Do they like that idea?”
“No. But that's life. And this is my life. And I love you. So don't you forget that ever. I'll make my own decisions.” He glanced at the photograph again. “About that as well. Capisci?”
She grinned at his American-accented Italian. “Capito.”
“Good.” He kissed her then, and a moment later he made delicious love to her again.
8
“You what?” Marcella looked at her in total amazement. For a moment Serena was afraid that she might faint.
“Relax, for heaven's sake. I told him. That's all.”
“You told the major?” Marcella looked as though she were going into shock. “What did you tell him?”
“Everything. About my parents. About this house.” Serena tried to look nonchalant, but it didn't come off and she burst into a nervous grin.
“What made you do that?” The old woman studied her shrewdly. She had been right, then. Serena had been falling in love with the handsome young American. Now all she had to do was hope that he married her, and her prayers would have been answered for the beloved girl. It was the only hope she could see for Serena, and she could tell from details she was used to observing that he was well brought up, probably from money, and she had long since decided that he was a very nice young man.
“I just did it, that's all. We were talking, and I felt dishonest not telling him the truth.” Marcella was too old and too wise to believe a word Serena was saying, but she nodded sagely and pretended to accept the tale.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.” She smiled to herself.… That he loves me.… “I don't think that he cares about the title. Hell,” she said, grinning at Marcella, “I'm still just the upstairs maid to him.”
“Are you?” Celia watched her reactions. “Is that all you are to him, Serena?”
“Of course. Oh, well … I suppose we're friends now.…” Her words drifted off and Marcella considered for a moment, and then decided to push for an answer to the question that was on her mind.
“Do you love him, Serena?”
“Do I … why that's …” She began to bluster, and then dropping the pretense, she nodded slowly. “Yes. I do.” The old woman went to Serena to take her in her arms.
“Does he love you too?”
“I think so. But”—she sighed deeply and pulled free of the old woman's arms to wander about the room—”it doesn't mean anything though, Celia. I have to face the truth. He's here, it's the romance of Rome—the war. One day he'll go back—to the world he knows.”
“And he'll take you.” The old woman said it with pride. This special girl was, after all, like a part of herself.
“I don't think so. And if he did, it would be out of pity. It would be because he would be sorry to leave me here.”
“Good. Then go with him.” As far as Marcella saw it, everything was set. But Serena saw a great deal more than that.
“It's not that simple.”
“It is if you want it to be. Do you? Do you love him enough to go with him?”
“Of course I do. But that isn't the point. He has a life there, Celia. He isn't the kind of man to take a war bride home.…”
“War bride!” Marcella jumped to her feet. “War bride? Are you crazy? Sei pazza? You're a princess, or don't you remember? Did you remember to tell him that too?” She looked suddenly anxious and Serena laughed.
“Yes, I told him. But that's not everything. I have nothing, Celia. Not now. Nothing at all. No money, nothing. What will his family think if he comes home with me?” She had overnight become wise in the way of things, but Marcella didn't want to hear it.
“They'll think he's very lucky, that's what they'll think.” “Maybe.” But Serena didn't believe it. She was remembering the face she had seen so often in the pictures.… “My family is very fond of Partie,” she could hear him say. But would they be fond of her? It seemed unlikely. She felt ashamed now. As though she had been disgraced along with her Uncle Sergio and II Duce, her country had fallen apart around her and her life had too. She wandered out into the garden then and Marcella watched her go.
October was a dream month for Serena. She and Brad had worked out their affair with miraculous precision, and every night after dinner he went to his room, as Serena waited in hers. When Marcella went to bed, the orderlies had usually retired, and she tiptoed softly into the main house and made her way quietly up the marble staircase to his bedroom, where he waited for her with things to tell her, funny stories, sometimes a letter from his younger brother, white wine or champagne, or a plate of cookies, or photographs he had taken of her the previous weekend, which they sifted through. There was always something to share, to chuckle over, to enjoy, to discuss, and then inevitably a little while later there was the miracle of their lovemaking, the endless discoveries and pleasures she found in his arms. Eventually the photographs of Pattie had been relegated to his office, and now she never saw them at all. They spent the nights cozily tucked into his bed, and then they rose together, before the rest of the household, just before six in the morning. They sat for a moment, watching the sun come up, looking down at the familiar garden, and then with a last kiss, a last touch, an embrace, she went back to her quarters, and they each began the day. In a strange way it was like being newly married, because each lived to return to the other at the end of the day.
It was on a day at the very end of October that Serena came to him and found him upset and vague. He seemed jumpy when Serena put her arms around him, and when she said something to him about it, he appeared not to hear.
“What?” He looked up at her from the chair he'd been sitting in as he stared into the fire with a distant expression. “I'm sorry, Serena. What did you say?”
“I said that you looked worried about something, my darling.” Her voice was a whisper on his neck, and he sighed deeply and laid his head against hers.
“Not really. Just distracted.” As she looked at him closely she thought again what a proud head he had, what fine gray eyes, and now she knew also that he was both intelligent and kind. Sometimes too much so. He was a man whose greatest virtue was compassion, and he always struggled to understand and assist his men. Sometimes it made him not quite firm enough as a leader. He was never heartless. He always cared.
“What are you distracted about, B.J.?” He smiled at the nickname his men used. Serena seldom used it. When she teased him, she called him Major. Otherwise she called him Brad.
He looked at her thoughtfully now, and then decided that he had to tell her. He had wanted to wait until the next morning, but what was the point—there was never going to be a right time. “Serena …” Her heart stopped as she heard the way he said it. She knew what was coming. He was leaving Rome. “I had a telegram this morning.”. She closed her eyes as she listened, fighting back her tears. She knew she had to be brave when she heard it, but her insides had just turned to jelly. Her eyes fluttered open again quickly and she saw the pain in her eyes mirr
ored in his own. “Now come on, sweetheart, it's not that bad.” He took her in his arms and let his lips roam slowly over the soft spun-gold hair.
“You're leaving?” It was a hoarse whisper, and quickly he shook his head.
“Of course not. Is that what you thought?” He pulled away from her gently, his eyes loving yet at the same time sad. “No, darling. I'm not leaving. This is nothing official.” And then he decided to plunge ahead and tell her. “It's Partie. She's coming over. I'm not sure why. She says the trip is an engagement present from her father. Frankly I think that she's worried. I haven't been writing much lately and she called here the other morning, right after… I don't know. I couldn't talk to her.” He stood up and wandered slowly across the room, his eyes troubled and vague. “I couldn't say the things she wanted.” And then he turned to face Serena. “I couldn't play the game with her, Serena. I don't know. I'm not sure what to do. I probably should have written to her weeks ago, to break the engagement, but—” He looked desperately unhappy. “I just wasn't sure.”
Serena nodded slowly, the knife of pain slicing swiftly through to her very core. “You still love her, don't you?” It was more a statement than a question, and B.J. looked at her with fresh anguish in his eyes.
“I'm not sure. I haven't seen her in months now, and that was all so unreal. It was the first time I'd been home in three years. It was all so heady and so romantic, and our families were cheering us on. It was like something in a movie, I'm not sure it's something in real life.”
“But you were going to many her.”
He nodded slowly. “It's what everyone wanted.” And then he knew he had to be honest. “It was what I wanted too. It seemed so right at the time. But now …”
Serena closed her eyes for a moment as she stretched out in front of the fire, trying to bear the pain of what she knew would come. And then she looked at him again, not in anger, but in sorrow. She knew that she couldn't fight the pretty dark-haired woman. She had already won him. And Serena was no one. Just the upstairs maid, as she had said to Marcella. The ugliness of it all was that it was true.
“I know what you're thinking.” He said it miserably as he dropped into a chair near the window and ran a hand through his already tousled curly hair. Before she had come to him that evening, he had been sitting there for hours, thinking, weighing, asking himself questions to which he didn't have answers. “Serena, I love you.”
“And I love you too. But I understand also that this is very romantic, that it is wonderful, but it is this, Brad, that is not real. That girl, her family, they know you. You know them. That is your life. What can this really be between us? An extraordinary memory? A tender moment?” She shrugged. “This is more like ‘something in a movie.’ ” She was quoting him. “It is nothing in real life. You can't take me home. We can't get married. She's the one you should marry and you know it.” Her eyes filled with tears and she turned away as he strode rapidly toward her and pulled her into his arms.
“But what if I don't want to?”
“You have to. You're engaged to be married.”
“I could break the engagement.” But the bitch of it Was that he wasn't sure if that was what he wanted. He loved this girl. But he had loved Pattie too. And he had been so proud, so exhilarated, so excited. Was that what he felt now? Was that what he felt for Serena? No, it wasn't excitement, it was something different, something quiet. He felt protective and tender, and sometimes almost fatherly toward her. He wanted to be there for her. And he knew also that at the end of every day he wanted her to be there for him. He had come to count on her quiet presence, her thoughtful words, her quiet moments in which she weighed all that he said. She often said things that helped him later. As he sat at his desk, tackling a problem, he would hear the soft voice beside him and move steadily ahead. She gave him a force of which Pattie knew nothing. She had survived sorrow and loss and it had made her stronger, and it was that strength that she shared with him. At her side he felt as though he could scale mountains, in her arms he found a passion he had never known before. But would it last for a lifetime? And could he truly take her home with him? These were the things he wasn't sure of. Pattie Atherton was of his world, of his culture, she was part of an already existing tapestry. It was right that they should be together. Or was it? As he stared down into the deep green eyes of Serena, he was no longer sure. What he wanted was what he had as he held her, the passion, the warmth, the longing, the strength that they shared. He couldn't give that up. But maybe he would have to. “Oh, Christ, Serena … I'm just not sure.” He held her closer and felt her tremble. “I feel like such an ass. I know I should be doing something decisive. And the bitch of it is that you know and Pattie doesn't. I should at least tell her the truth.” He felt guilty about everyone, and torn from deep within.
“No, Brad, you shouldn't. She doesn't have to know. If you marry Pattie, she need never know about me.” It would be just another wartime affair, a soldier and an Italian. There were certainly enough of them around, Serena thought bitterly for a moment, and then she forced the anger from her mind. She had no right to be angry. She had given her heart to him and her self —done what she had done, knowing that there was another woman, and knowing full well that the affair might come to naught. She had gambled and probably lost. But she didn't regret the game. She loved him, and she knew that, whatever he felt for his fiancée, he also loved her. “When is she coming?” Her eyes burned into his and he took a deep breath.
“Tomorrow.”
“Oh, my God.” This was to be their last night, then. “Why didn't you tell me?”
“I wasn't sure exactly when she was coming until tonight. I just got another telegram.” He pulled her into his arms.
“Do you want me to go now?” It was a small voice of bravado, and Brad was quick to shake his head and pull her closer still.
“No… oh, God, don't do that… I need you.” And then he felt suddenly guilty again as he realized how unfair he was being. He pulled back from her slowly. “Do you want to go?” This time it was Serena who shook her head, her eyes locked into his.
“No.”
“Oh, baby …” He buried his face in her neck. “I love you … I feel like such a weakling.”
“You're not. You're only human. These things happen. I suppose,” she sighed wisely, “that they happen every day.” But nothing like it had ever happened to him before. He had never felt this confused. There were two women he wanted, and he had no idea which one was the right way to turn. “Come.” Serena stood up and took his hand then. And when he looked up at her, she seemed more a woman to him than she ever had before. The idea that she was only nineteen was preposterous. She was as old and as wise as time as she stood there, smiling gently, holding out her arms to him, and slowly he stood up. “You look tired, my darling.” She was aching inside, but she didn't let him see that. Instead all that she showed him was her love for him, and her quiet strength. It was the same strength that had allowed her to survive the death of her parents, her banishment to the States, and the loss of her grandmother during the war. It was the same strength that had allowed her to return, and live in the palazzo in the servants' quarters, scrubbing bathroom floors and forgetting that she had ever been a principessa. Now it was that strength that she gave to him. She led him silently into the bedroom, stood beside her mother's bed, and began to take off her clothes slowly. It was an evening ritual between them, and sometimes he helped her and sometimes he only watched, admiring the graceful beauty of her young body and long limbs. But tonight he couldn't keep his hands from her, as the moonlight danced in her platinum hair, and his own clothes lay in a heap beside him before she was undressed, and rapidly he lifted her onto the bed and covered her body with his warm, hungry lips.
“Oh, Serena darling … I love you so.…”
She whispered his name in the moonlight, and for long hours before sunrise they forgot that there was another woman, and again and again Serena was his.
9
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br /> Major B.J. Fullerton stood looking very tall and straight and handsome at the military airport outside Rome. Only his eyes looked faintly troubled, and there were weary smudges to indicate that he had slept little, and as he lit a cigarette he realized that his hands were trembling. It seemed foolish to be nervous about seeing Pattie, but he was. Her father, Congressman Atherton of Rhode Island, had arranged for her to join a military flight over, and she was due in ten minutes. For a brief moment B.J. wished that he had had a drink before he left the house. And then suddenly he saw the plane, circling high above and then drifting lower, heading toward the runway, and finally making a graceful landing, then taxiing down the runway toward the small hastily erected building where he stood. He stood very still as he watched two colonels and a major step down the gangway, then a small cluster of military aides, one woman dressed in the uniform of a military nurse, and then he felt his heart break into a gallop as he saw her, standing at the top of the gangway, looking across the tarmac until she saw him, waving and smiling gaily, the raven hair neatly tucked into a bright red hat. She was wearing a fur coat and dark stockings, and she touched the railing, as she made her way down the stairway, with one elegant little hand neatly encased in a black kid glove. He was struck, even at this distance, by how pretty she was. That was the right word for Pattie. Pretty. She wasn't beautiful like Serena. She wasn't striking. But she was pretty, with a brilliant smile, wide baby-doll blue eyes, and a little turned-up nose. In the summer her face was lightly dusted with freckles when she went to Newport with her parents and summered at their fourteen-bedroom “cottage” with all the other friends she joined there every year. Pretty little Pattie Atherton. He felt his stomach quiver as he watched her. He wanted to run toward her as she was running toward him, but something stopped him. Instead he walked toward her with long slow strides and a wistful smile.
“Hi, pretty girl, can I show you around Rome or is someone meeting you?” He kissed her playfully on the forehead and she giggled, turning her face up toward his with her dazzling Miss America smile.
Remembrance Page 9
